


you’re the one who makes the tough calls (i just fire the gun)

by seaquestions



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: War for Cybertron Trilogy (Cartoon)
Genre: Earthrise Spoilers, Gen, Implied Relationships, POV Outsider, Past Relationship(s), megoplitamags being a broken polycule was so genius brain of us, poor chromia's just trying to live, they are ALL exes. ALL FOUR OF THEM.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:54:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28454919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seaquestions/pseuds/seaquestions
Summary: Chromia knew that the two had shared history from back before the war started, along with poor Magnus—Primus rest his soul—and the Prime himself.She just hadn’t realised that it was so personal.
Relationships: Elita One/Megatron/Optimus Prime/Ultra Magnus
Comments: 10
Kudos: 30
Collections: Collextive





	you’re the one who makes the tough calls (i just fire the gun)

**Author's Note:**

> contains spoilers for earthrise.
> 
> this thing is really enhanced by the notion that megatron, optimus, elita & magnus are all exes. a collective of exes, a _Collextive_ , if you will! enjoy.

There was an underlying tenseness in Elita’s metal, since the moment Megatron called her by her given name. Ariel, he had said. So casually, and yet it was clearly purposeful. Chromia knew that the two had shared history from back before the war started, along with poor Magnus—Primus rest his soul—and the Prime himself. Something about all being students of Alpha Trion. She didn’t know them back then, she’d only been a humble labourer. When she joined the Autobots and became Elita’s closest friend, she found out about it but didn’t think too much of their backstory. She’d assumed it was something Elita had moved past, unlike the Prime.

Chromia hadn’t realised that it was so personal, not between Megatron and Elita. But the rattled look on Elita’s face had told stories. The piles of baggage between them and the two other mecha who were gone, one who left Cybertron and one who left the land of the living.

She couldn’t stop thinking about the way Elita just—let the Decepticon shove them all in those pods to be siphoned for energy. Surrendered to it without a fight, too stuck in those Trionian ideals of redemption, even in the face of certain death, even in the face of an unredeemable monster. She wanted to die for those ideals. But did she really?

Chromia, though she couldn’t show it, felt the energon boiling in her lines as she stood there, incapacitated. It was infuriating to witness, enraging. She wanted to scream—no we _don’t_ think he should join us, _he_ should be the one executed for his crimes, now get us _out_ of here! But she didn’t, not even over comms. She wasn’t the one who made the decisions. Usually, _usually_ , she felt that she could trust Elita to make the right calls, to be her conductor. This time, something was wrong. And Chromia couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of–of frustration or betrayal or _something_ , at her commander’s presumption that she too would die for this. 

The Elita that Chromia knew would have swung her joined fists under Megatron’s jaw and come up with an escape route in 0.5 seconds. Perhaps Chromia didn’t know her as well as she thought she did. What had happened felt like the kind of stupid, stubborn, nostalgia-driven decision that _Prime_ would’ve made under the guise of ideals.

It’s all Megatron’s fault, she thought. Megatron and his annoying, dramatic, overly personal history with every single damn Autobot commander she’s served under. Chromia didn’t understand, _couldn’t_ understand. The mech was clearly so far gone from who he used to be. So why did they all stick around, hoping desperately for the Decepticon warlord to go back on every crime he’s committed, to reach out and make things right, to apologize to them, to forgive and be forgiven, as if he ever would— _anyone with their head placed firmly on their shoulders would be able to see that!_

She sat in the theatre hall turned clinic, her back hunched. Red Alert tended to stray wounded ‘cons while Jetfire brooded in the corner. She didn’t mind the ex-cons. Most of them were just civilians. Not like Megatron.

At some point, Elita walked into the hall from the corridor leading to the makeshift communications room. _Finally_ , she thought.

“Elita,” Chromia stood up and called out to her, “I’m gonna need you to tell me what happened there.”

The Autobot commander looked at her with surprise, paused mid-step, and gestured for Chromia to come over.

“What do you mean?” Elita asked in a hushed voice, as Chromia came close. The two of them walked back towards the corridor Elita came out of. This wasn’t a conversation to be had publicly.

Chromia huffed. “Trying to redeem Megatron. The surrender. You know, stuff that you didn’t run by us.”

“I _told_ you and Jetfire,” Elita said, frowning, “As Autobots, we must allow for second chances—”

“Yeah, no,” Chromia gritted out, “I’m gonna call bullshit on that one. He didn’t come groveling for forgiveness, he wasn’t on death’s door, and there wasn’t anything there to redeem anyway. I don’t know _what_ you were trying to do there. I would’ve thought you’d at least tried to escape, like you said we were. So. What. Happened.”

Elita’s face held a pained expression. She opened and closed the mouth multiple times, as if trying and failing to start a sentence.

“He–” Elita tried. “I–”

“It’s because he called you Ariel, isn’t it?” 

Elita’s mouth snapped shut as she flinched. Chromia almost felt bad.

“I don’t get it,” Chromia continued with a sigh, “If someone betrayed me and went on to be a monster, I would’ve just shot them. I don’t get why you, Prime and Magnus want him to come back to you so much. What _is_ he to you three?”

“It’s… complicated,” Elita finally said.

Chromia almost rolled her eyes. Of course it was, what _wasn’t_ complicated? She gestured for Elita to continue.

“The bond we shared was immensely tight,” her commander explained, “It was like—a rope held us together. But… it also choked us. Pressed tight and made us bump into each other. Some more than others. In the end, there was just too much tension and… When Alpha Trion died, it was like it had snapped.”

Chromia looked at her in the eyes. “So. Did you expect to remake that bond? Tie the ends together and pretend none of this ever happened? Is that what you wanted? Is that what you still want?”

Elita shook her head, looking away from Chromia’s piercing gaze. “No, that’s not possible anymore. Magnus is dead, for one. Out of all four of us, he was always the peacemaker.”

Chromia waited.

“I just…” Elita said, laboured, “I can’t _not_ hope. Perhaps it’s idealistic of me, but. It’s what Alpha Trion always said and—I want to believe in it. I want to believe in people.”

“In Megatron,” Chromia said, flat and unimpressed. If she wanted to hear the Prime go on about the old mech’s teachings, she would’ve jumped on the Ark with him and the rest of his crew.

Elita put her hand on her chest, above her spark. “Yes, even in Megatron,” she said, with as much conviction as she could muster.

Chromia couldn’t help it. It was just so… so mind-bogglingly out of touch with reality, she—she couldn’t help but laugh! It’s funny, when Prime was here, Elita was the most level-headed mech in the room. It was as if being the Autobot leader made you lose your common sense!

She spat the laughter out of her mouth deliriously, painful and disbelieving, as it grew and grew. A chill of betrayal and disappointment ran through her, alongside a numbing feeling of always having known this to be the truth, deep down. She laughed in Elita’s face, louder and louder, and she felt like she just might cry. Maybe she _was_ crying. She couldn’t tell.

“Okay,” she said as she calmed down, a couple of loose chuckles still spilling out. “I get it, I get it.”

Elita’s eyes were wide open, shocked and insulted at the blatant disrespect and rejection of her statement.

Chromia took a deep breath, but it was shaky. “Don’t worry boss,” she said, with a loose lopsided smile, “I won’t bug you about this anymore.”

And then she walked away, leaving Elita to stand there, still processing what had happened. Chromia’s fingers twitched. Oh, how she needed her rifle. She needed to shoot something. She couldn’t, though. Had to preserve energy. But she’d hold her rifle, hold it close to her until their next skirmish.

And when the time would come, she wouldn’t wait for Elita’s call.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks 4 reading! ✌


End file.
